The Treachery of Beautiful Things
by starbursts and kisses
Summary: "We're all stories in the end." A collection of standalone prompts written for certain people on Tumblr.
1. The Wild Hunt (Arya x Aegon)

**AN: **Thought it'd be nice to dump all my prompt fics in one page. Who knew writing drabbles could be so fun? :)

Title was taken from Ruth Frances Long's lovely novel, btw.

* * *

**For the prompt: _Jealous Arya (Pre-betrothal to Aegon)_**

_If that woman bats her eyelashes at him one more time, I swear to the gods I am going to scream, _Arya thought furiously to herself as she swirled the contents of her wine and fought the urge to hurl it against the nearest wall.

Beside her, Rhaenys had picked up on her mood and was now staring at her with a devilish smirk on her face, something that did nothing to quell Arya's rising temper. "Whatever is the matter, Lady Arya?" she said in her best Elia Martell voice. "Is the wine not to your liking?"

Her eyes flickered towards the dancing couple in the middle of the room. Her brother looked particularly dashing today, a fact that his present dancing partner seemed highly well aware of. Margaery Tyrell blushed prettily next to the prince, her eyelashes cast downward in a way that made her look even more innocent and virtuous than the rumors had suggested. In fact, she was so sweet and well mannered that every time Aegon tried to excuse himself, she would smile at him so forlornly that he would be left with no choice but to grant her another dance lest he risk the chance of him looking like an ungallant brute.

As it stood, Margaery now had the honor of dancing with the prince for no less than four times. If Aegon were to grant her one more dance, Rhaenys had no doubt that by this time tomorrow, the rumors about a new Tyrell princess would soon be spreading across the city like wildfire.

_And that, _she thought, sparing a glance at the smug look on Mace Tyrell's face from his position at the high table, _would not do._

"The wine is fine, Princess Rhaenys," Arya managed to say through gritted teeth. Rhaenys consoled herself with the fact that at least she did not look half as murderous as the lady sitting next to her. Margaery Tyrell may be as lovely as a spring blossom, but a rose with thorns is no match for a direwolf.

"Then why the long face?" Rhaenys asked her, unable to stop herself from goading their Northern guest further. "Are you unwell, my lady? Would you like me to fetch my brother? He would be most wroth with me if something bad were to happen to you without his knowledge."

Arya shook her head obstinately. "I'm fine," she insisted. "There's no need to call Jon."

Rhaenys' eyes flashed with amusement. "Oh, but I am not talking about Jon."

Arya's face hardened at that. "Prince Aegon is far too busy with his Southron lady to pay attention to me. I would not want to deprive him of Lady Margaery's company so soon, not when he so clearly enjoys it," she said, sounding just as churlish as Viserys when he is being deprived of something he wants.

"They do make a striking couple, do they not?" Rhaenys mused loudly, one hand resting on her chin. "How long do you think it'll be before I would have to call Margaery my good sister?"

Arya ground her teeth so hard Rhaenys half-expected her to transform into Stannis Baratheon. "But… but surely…" she sputtered, looking flustered, "Surely Aegon would not marry _her. _Not her."

The older woman suppressed a smile and leaned closer to her guest. "You mustn't be so sure of that," she whispered. "Allow me to tell you a secret, Lady Arya. My brother… has a certain… shall we say…_fondness _for dark-haired girls." She raised one eyebrow and smirked at her. "Catch my meaning?"

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say to her. Lord Eddard's daughter slammed her goblet against the table so hard that some of the wine spilled onto her lap, staining her white gown a deep crimson red, but she did not even seem to notice.

Rhaenys gave Arya a friendly pat on the back and silently congratulated herself on a job well done. "Have patience, my love," she said sweetly. "You haven't even seen the worst of it yet."

* * *

Rhaenys was right, of course. Just when Arya thought things would get better, they only got worse. She could not understand how a man like Aegon could inspire such blind loyalty and adoration from the majority of the ladies in King's Landing. If Aegon were to ask someone to jump off a cliff, the poor lady would probably do so without a second thought. Arya thought the whole thing was rather ridiculous.

"I thought I might find you here."

Arya turned around and came face to face with Jon. He favored her with one of his rare smiles and joined her on the balustrade, where they both had a perfect view of the approaching carriage that bore the seal of House Baratheon.

"Aegon was looking for you earlier, you know," Jon mentioned casually.

Arya snorted and jerked her chin in Aegon's direction. "Does that look like a man searching for me, Jon?" she said. They both watched as the carriage doors opened and a lovely lady with hair as brilliant as the sun gingerly stepped out. Aegon took her hand and carefully escorted her out, smiling at her in a way that made Arya wish she had clobbered him on the head the last time Aegon found himself alone with her.

"Look at him," Arya muttered, shaking her head in disgust. "Strutting like a bloody peacock who owns the place. You'd think he'd never seen a blonde-haired girl in his life before."

Jon paused and looked at her.

"What?" Arya asked him. "Why are you staring at me like that, Jon?"

After a moment, she heard him laugh. "By the gods," Jon said, sounding far too amused for Arya's liking. "You…"

"I _what? _For gods' sake, Jon, spit it out."

"You're jealous," Jon finally had the grace to say.

Arya gasped indignantly. "I am _not," _she protested.

Jon nodded sagely at her. "Yes, you are," he stated. "Arya, I know you better than anyone. So believe me when I say this: you like my brother. And if I am not mistaken, he likes you too."

* * *

Arya seethed quietly by herself as she watched Aegon and his small party gallop off into the kingswood, the sound of barking dogs following in their wake. Riding at a steady pace beside him was Elia Sand, yet another paragon of beauty who had journeyed all the way from the far reaches of Dorne just for the pleasure of having the prince's company. Or so Arya had gleaned from eavesdropping in on Lord Varys' conversation with the king earlier that day.

Elia Sand was not as beautiful as Myrcella Baratheon or Margaery Tyrell, but she exuded a certain confidence that drew men to her in the same manner Aegon drew women to him. And for some reason Arya did not like her.

"Arya," a soft voice said to her right. "What are you doing here? I thought you had gone riding with my nephew today."

Arya shrugged and met Daenerys Targaryen's curious gaze. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite for riding," she remarked. "Perhaps some other day."

In truth, she was still mad at Aegon for inviting Elia Sand along with them. Arya suppressed a sigh. Sometimes the stupid prince was just too damn nice for his own good.

"I'm sorry Aegon has made things difficult for you," Dany said, reaching out to clasp Arya's hand. "He chose a most inopportune time to invite you to King's Landing."

"What do you mean?"

Dany sighed. "You've arrived in the middle of hunting season, dearest Arya," she told her. "But this time there is only one prey."

A look of understanding crossed Arya's face. "Aegon," she immediately said.

Dany nodded. "Yes. Aegon."

No doubt her Targaryen friend expected her to be deterred by this news. But if anything, this only made Arya even more determined. She smiled wolfishly at Dany and said, "Good thing I am a Stark then. I know a thing or two about hunting."

* * *

**AN: **I don't know when this drabble-writing streak will last, so if you want me to write something for you, send me a prompt on Tumblr (the username's starksiren).

It doesn't necessarily have to be Arya/Aegon. Sometimes a little variety is welcome too. However... I make no guarantees that I'd be able to do ALL the prompts. It depends on how, ummm, doable the prompt is.


	2. Under My Skin (Arya x Aegon)

**For the prompt: _Aegon is a hot tattoo artist and Arya gets a new ink_**

Griff took one look at the skinny girl who entered his studio and smirked.

"Let me guess," he drawled. "You want a fairy on your shoulder."

The girl glared at him, pushing long locks of untamed hair out of her eyes – Griff had never seen anyone with hair so messy, unless of course you counted the occasional wild animal you see on Discovery Channel – and said, "Do I look like the type who wants a fucking fairy on my shoulder?"

Griff smiled, cigarette dangling loosely on his lips. "No? How about a heart on an anchor?" he tried again.

"Hells no."

"A flaming skull?"

"No way."

"A rose with thorns?"

The girl looked mildly disgusted. "Seriously?"

"Right," Griff muttered, running a hand through his hair and favoring her with an amused grin. "So what's it gonna be, girl-who-doesn't-want-a-fairy-on-her-shoulder?"

"It's Arya," the girl corrected him irritably. She forced her way to the counter and shoved a rumpled piece of paper at him. "_This _is what I want tattooed on my left arm. Can you do it?"

Griff's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Interesting," he remarked. "You have a thing for wolves?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say that," she replied with a shrug. "So can you do it or not? I don't have all day."

"Oh, I can do it alright. Hop on."

Arya settled herself on one of the empty leather arm stools and drew back her sleeve, revealing wiry muscles that suggested long hours spent under the sun. If Griff had to guess, he'd say tennis. Possibly even lacrosse.

The tiny voice inside his head that sounded remarkably like his annoying friend Hugor reminded him that he was ogling, so Griff blinked and quickly got to work.

"Okay, this might hurt a bit," he cautioned her.

"No shit, Sherlock. It's a needle. Of course it's supposed to hurt."

"Wow, you always this snarky?"

She shot him a grin that looked as lupine as the image she wanted tattooed on her arm and said, "Only to strangers who ask annoying questions."

Griff snorted and went back to work.

To his surprise, during the entire two hours that Arya was in his shop, she uttered not one word of complaint. Arm tattoos weren't as painful as, say, shoulder or wrist tattoos, but Griff knew they could still hurt like a bitch, especially if it was the customer's first time. And one look at Arya and he could immediately tell that it was her first time, even though she looked more inclined to deny it.

The girl had a high tolerance for pain, Griff could give her that. And she was rather… intriguing. For a girl who claimed to express intolerance for being asked annoying questions, she sure was a chatty one. She threw odd questions at him – why was his hair blue, why was he all alone in the studio and why did he not have, like, an assistant or something, what kind of self-respecting man wore tight jeans and a vest with nothing underneath without expecting to be harassed by old ladies and rich cougars on the street– and on more than one occasion, he caught her staring at the intricate lines of tattoo on his chest, so before he knew it, he was telling her all about his family's fascination with dragons and the day he decided he wanted to get a tattoo in honor of his late father.

It was just so easy to talk to her, and he was surprised by how much he seemed to be enjoying himself. In fact, when those two hours were over, Griff was rather sorry to see her go.

"Hey, wolf girl!" he called back a second before Arya walked out of his shop for good.

Arya paused and looked back over her shoulder. "What?"

"The next time you come back here, it's on the house," Griff said with a wink.


	3. Misplaced Chivalry (Arya x Aegon)

**For the prompt: _Aegon meets Arya in Braavos._**

Braavos truly is a beautiful place, Aegon decided as he pushed his way past the throngs of people and walked toward one of the many stone bridges that lined the inner parts of the city. As a young man with no permanent home, he'd seen a great deal of the world, but none half as alluring as the city of Braavos.

He liked it here. He liked the painted bridges and the equally colorful bravos that man the streets at night; he liked the narrow houses with its peak tiled roofs and the way they seem to lean towards one another, almost like a pack of falling cards; he liked the fact that anyone here is free to worship whatever god they please; and most of all, he liked the people – the friendly sailors and the amusing mummers and hell, even the coquettish whores who coo at him behind half-opened windows and tavern doors.

In fact, he liked Braavos so much he had half a mind to tell Jon and Duck to leave him here. In Westeros, what awaited him was a land thrice ravaged by war and destruction, but here in Braavos, he could find nothing but peace. That was, of course, until he came across the sight of several men beating a poor, helpless boy with reckless abandon right in the middle of the street.

The men were heavily muscled but otherwise unarmed. One of them in particular, a brutish middle-aged man who Aegon presumed was their leader, was taking special pleasure in kicking the life out of his bedraggled victim. To Aegon's abject horror, he realized that the recipient of those blows was a girl. And Seven Hells, to make matters worse, the girl was _blind_.

With a sudden surge of anger, Aegon ran toward them and yelled, "Hey! Leave her alone!"

The men turned as one and stared at him. One of them spat on the ground and gave him a crooked smile. "Mind your own business, boy," he sneered.

Aegon clenched his jaw tightly and took one step forward, the glint of naked steel shining dangerously in the sunlight. "I said," he growled in a low voice, "Leave. Her. Alone."

The group's leader cocked an eyebrow at him. "Or what?" he goaded him.

Aegon's eyes settled on the girl. She had managed to pull herself up to a sitting position, and despite the blood on her face and the blooming bruises on her arms, there was something different about her and the way she held herself. She didn't look cowed or defeated at all. In fact, she seemed almost angry at the intrusion. But of course that couldn't be right.

"Gentlemen," Aegon addressed the group in bastard Valyrian. "I am giving you one last chance to surrender. Leave the girl alone and I promise no harm shall come to you."

"Such brave words from one so young," the Braavosi leader said, cracking his knuckles. "Very well, then. If it's a fight you want, we shall give you one."

The fight lasted only a short time. Though the men outnumbered him three to one, Aegon was faster. He had been training with Duck and Jon since the moment he'd been deemed old enough to hold a sword, and though he was nowhere near as good as a knight of the Kingsguard, he liked to think of himself as a decent enough swordsman.

By the time he saw the last of the men, Aegon was panting and drenched in sweat. There was a terrible gash just above his left eyebrow – a result when one of the Braavosi foolishly tried to wrestle his sword from him – and every bone in his body ached. When Jon finds him later, there would be hell to pay. But surely he would not begrudge him this one fight, not when the honor of a blind girl is at stake?

Speaking of the girl… Aegon whirled around, but to his surprise, there was no sign of her anywhere. _That can't be possible_, Aegon thought. _She is too injured to move. And she's blind. There's no way she could have run away so fast._

Fraught with worry and compassion, he tried asking several of the Braavosi who had witnessed the fight if they had seen the blind girl, but all he got were blank stares and confused mutterings.

So not knowing what else to do, Aegon sighed and finally decided to head back to the inn. He'd had enough adventure for one day.

* * *

"Move and you die."

Aegon gulped and felt the cold kiss of a blade at his throat. He could not, for the life of him, understand how he came to be here. All he knew was that he'd been admiring one of the dome-shaped temples from afar, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, some inconspicuous ruffian had grabbed him by the edge of his tunic and dragged him off to a hidden alley.

The stranger drew back her hood and stared at him, and Aegon had to stifle a gasp. It was her, the girl he'd rescued from those men. Her face was different somehow. It was longer and more angular now, and those eyes… Yes, the color was different as well. Aegon had never noticed it before, but he supposed she was pretty, in the same way one might call a sleek mountain lion pretty. But what bothered him more than anything was this – she looked neither blind nor helpless.

"Who are you?"

"No one," the girl replied in perfectly polished Westerosi.

Aegon's eyes widened. "You are from Westeros," he stated.

The girl tilted her head and stared unnervingly at him. "In another life I was," she conceded. "But no longer."

"You speak like a Westerosi noble, you play the part of a blind girl, and you point a knife at my throat," Aegon said. "Tell me, who are you and what is it that you want with me?"

"I am here because you interfered with my affairs," she snapped at him.

Aegon looked at her in disbelief. "Interfered?" he exclaimed indignantly. "You ungrateful girl, I saved your life! Those men weren't exactly inviting you out for tea and lemon cakes, as I recall. You were lucky you didn't bleed to death before I found you!"

"No, you don't understand," she snarled at him, looking positively murderous. "I waited months for this, you camel's cunt. _Months_. And I was so close to giving him the coin when you – you stupid disgusting maggot – decided that today would be a good day to save a blind girl. If you had just walked away like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened!"

His mouth dropped open, the threat of her blade now thoroughly forgotten. "I don't know what in gods' name you're talking about," he muttered, "but did you just call me a _camel's cunt_? And a _maggot_?"

The girl who called herself no one shrugged, and for a moment, the grip on her dagger slackened. But Aegon was too affronted to take advantage of this opportunity.

"You…" he sputtered. "You… Seven Hells, maybe I should have let those men had their way with you."

She nodded. "Yes, you should have," she whispered. "So now I've come here to warn you. Stay away from those men. And stay away from me."

"Or what?"

_"Valar morghulis."_

The pressure on his throat loosened and something hit him on the back of the head – something painful enough to make him see stars – but when his vision cleared again, he found himself all alone in the alley.

The girl had vanished again.

* * *

Aegon walked the entire length of Ragman's Harbor in a daze, his mind struggling to make sense of what just happened. Today was, no doubt, one of the strangest days he'd had in his life.

"Hey, you alright, young man?" one of the men lingering near the docks asked him. "Are you lost?"

Aegon shook his head. "No," he muttered. "I… Well… There was this girl. She… I think she just called me a camel's cunt."

The man gave him a knowing smile. "Let me guess," he said. "Scruffy girl? Grey eyes? Wields a sharp-looking blade?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"Ah," the roguish-looking Braavosi said. "That would be Cat."

"Cat?" Aegon repeated. He paused for a moment to think. "And this Cat… You know where to find her?"

"Just so. Come by this spot tomorrow before sunset and you will see her."

Aegon pressed several copper coins into the man's palm and nodded at him. "Many thanks," he said, suppressing the urge to smile. Already he was thinking up ways of convincing Jon to stay one more night at Braavos.


	4. Closer to the Edge (Arya x Aegon)

**_For the prompt: Aegon is intrigued by her but Arya has an ulterior motive. Jon senses that there is something wrong with her so Aegon volunteers to figure it out._**

"So, how exactly do you plan on storming King's Landing?"

Aegon and Jon simultaneously looked up from the maps on the table just in time to see Arya stride inside the tent, her hair in its customary messy braid, twin blades dangling on either side of her hips. She grinned at them, perched herself on the edge of the table, and waited for both men to compose themselves.

Aegon blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"King's Landing," Arya said, enunciating the words slowly as though she was talking to an imbecile. "You have plans to march to the city as soon as possible, yes? Have you found the best way to accomplish that?"

Jon ran a hand through his hair and shot his sister a weary smile. "Have you been eavesdropping in on our council meetings again, Arya?"

She shrugged. "Only because you persist in leaving me out of such important matters of state," she replied, barely able to conceal her irritation.

"We've been through this before, Arya," Jon whispered softly. "I'd rather you occupied yourself with the rebuilding of Winterfell rather than with battle plans and strategy meetings. I've no wish to burden you with such tedious talks."

Arya rolled her eyes and muttered something in bastard Valyrian. Aegon raised his eyebrows in surprise, and thought it prudent not to translate for Jon. "Very well then," she stated in a bored tone. She stood up and made to leave. "Come find me when you're finally ready to hear some real advice."

Jon glanced at his half-brother and abruptly came to a decision. "Arya, wait," he called out.

She stopped in her tracks.

"If there's something you know that can help us…"

Arya smiled, leaned both elbows on the table, and whispered to them, "What if I told you that there was a way to get inside the Red Keep undetected?"

Aegon frowned. "Is such a thing possible?" he asked.

"Can dragons roam the skies again? Of course it's possible, silver prince," she replied in a contemptuous voice she solely reserved for him. She turned to Jon. "When we reach the outskirts of King's Landing, send me ahead. I will sneak inside the Red Keep and pave the way open for you. Wait for my signal. Disguise your troops as common folk and position half of them near the King's Gate. The other half will storm the castle from the inside, under my command and guidance. That way we can have the element of surprise."

Aegon rested one hand on his chin and stared at Jon's sister with wonder and newly found appreciation. "That's not a bad plan," he admitted. "If you can truly find a way inside the castle without being detected –"

"Not if. _When_."

Jon, however, did not share their enthusiasm. "I don't know, Arya…" he began. "I don't want you risking your life in this battle. Perhaps if you told us the secret passage you are privy to, one of us can take your place instead."

Arya shook her head, and the look she sent him was serious. "It's me or no one at all, Jon."

To his credit, Jon did his best to resist the idea, but in the end, as Aegon had known he would, he eventually gave in. Jon Snow had but one weakness, and that weakness was now staring them right in the face, smiling at them.

"Tell me one thing though, Lady Stark," Aegon abruptly said. "Why help us? You have no love for me or for my cause – you've made that clear enough – and yet you would risk your life to aid us. Why? I thought you didn't trust me?"

"I don't," Arya replied bluntly. "But Jon trusts you. And for now, that would have to be enough."

* * *

When Arya finally took her leave, Aegon cleared his throat. "Your cousin..." he began to say.

"Sister," Jon immediately corrected him.

"Fine. Sister then," Aegon conceded. "She is... a rather remarkable woman. I've never met anyone like her."

It was true. Aegon had seen a great deal of the world and interacted with people from all walks of life. But in all those years, he had never encountered a woman (or a man) quite like Arya Stark. She intrigued him, this wild Northern guest of theirs. It was a good thing she was wary of him, or else Aegon might not have been able to stop himself from doing something that would have caused great enmity between him and his newfound brother.

Jon interrupted his thoughts and sighed. "I am worried for her," he confessed in a small voice.

"Don't be. She slew thirty men in the Battle of Winterfell and crippled four of my Golden Company when they tried to make a pass at her. She can take care of herself."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Jon said, shaking his head. "She has learned to stick men with the pointy end. I know that. But I didn't like the way she looked earlier, Aegon. There is something wrong with her. She's... changed somehow."

"War changes us all, brother."

"Yes, but Arya... She's my_ sister._ I'm supposed to protect her from the horrors of the world and the cruelty of men. But I fear that it is too late now. She has seen and suffered too much."

"Jon, listen to me. If there is anyone that can bring Arya back to herself, it's you," Aegon told him. "You're the only one she listens to. Hell, she would have cleaved me in half that first night she came into our camp if you hadn't intervened and talked her out of it."

"Yes, but... How am I to help her if she won't tell me what's wrong?"

Aegon clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Leave that to me," he promised. "Maybe I can help."

* * *

"Did you know that you talk in your sleep, Lady Stark?"

The aforementioned lady shot up in bed so fast Aegon was barely able to make out her form in the darkness. In a matter of seconds, she had her blade pointed at his chest. "Do you know what happens to men who trespass in my chambers? My brother puts them to the sword. But not if I don't kill them first," she hissed.

Aegon raised both of his hands in an act of surrender. "Easy now," he said slowly. "I mean you no harm, my lady. I just want to talk."

Arya threw back her head and laughed. "Talk? Is that what men call it these days?" She lowered her sword arm so that the tip of her blade rested on the one part of his body Aegon valued more than his heart. "Give me one good reason why I should spare your life."

Aegon swallowed and forced himself to look away from her blade so that he could meet her eyes. "I came here because of your brother," he told her earnestly. "He's worried about you."

"He shouldn't be."

"No. He has good cause to worry," Aegon said. "As do I."

She scoffed at him. "You're just saying that because you want to fuck me," she said blithely.

Aegon smirked at her, his eyes traveling from her face to her breasts and back again. "True enough," he admitted with a shrug. "I do want you. But that doesn't mean I don't care for you, Arya Stark."

He tilted his head to the side and gazed at her. "Tell me. How do you think your brother will react when he finds out that you intend to kill Cersei Lannister in King's Landing?"

"About as well as he reacts when he finds out that his half-brother wants to fuck his favorite sister."

"My, my," Aegon said, grinning handsomely at her. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Lady Stark?"

Arya returned his grin with a wicked smile of her own. "Think what you will of my words," she whispered. "But make no mistake. Cersei Lannister is _mine_. I owe her a debt, Aegon Targaryen, one that can only be paid with blood. And one way or another, that debt shall be paid."

* * *

**AN: **That thing with Jon killing intruders in Arya's room... well, that one was obviously a joke :)

Happy Game of Thrones Day, everyone! :)


	5. 5 Times Arya Ran Away From Septa Mordane

**AN: To RukiaGallega, the lovely person who gave me this prompt, I am so sorry it took me so long to write this. I was on vacation, plus I went through this weird writing phase where I kept declaring everything I write as crap, so... my apologies.**

**For the prompt: ****_Stark family fluff_**

**JON**

Jon allowed his gaze to sweep over the empty room. He could've sworn he saw something moving underneath his bed. But was it just his imagination? With a growing sense of suspicion, he knelt on the floor, swept the covers aside, and peered past the dust and the grime. The shadows under his bed quivered at the sudden onslaught of light, until they shifted and morphed, forming the face of a girl he knew all too well.

"Arya?" he exclaimed in astonishment. "What in gods' name are you doing down there?"

He was rewarded with a small grin from his sister. Arya Stark, in all her childlike glory, crawled out of his bed on her bony elbows and knees, looking not the least bit worried that Jon had managed to find her new secret hiding place.

"Shh, be quiet, Jon," she whispered, putting one finger to her lips. "Septa Mordane might hear you. You haven't seen her lurking around here, have you?"

"I can't say that I have," Jon replied, unable to stop himself from smiling at the idea that his little sister might have found her way into trouble once again. But then again, he shouldn't be surprised. Arya had a way of making him smile even when the situation calls for her to be reprimanded or restrained.

He knew he ought to report her presence here to Lady Catelyn – it was the proper thing for him to do, after all – but he was as bound to Arya by loyalty as she was to him. He would never betray her, even in light of such trivial matters. Arya knew that, of course. It was probably why she had taken shelter underneath his bed in the first place.

"Hmm. But why is Septa Mordane looking for you? What have you done this time?"

Arya's face darkened at the memory of some remembered slight. She tried to shrug off the question, but under Jon's careful scrutiny, it was impossible for her to lie. "She saw me punch Theon," she grudgingly confessed, eyes studiously fixed to the floorboards.

Jon frowned. "And why were you punching Theon?" he asked her. "Theon is our father's ward, and he is kind to you, isn't he?"

"Yes, but he wasn't kind to you," Arya griped. "He called you a bastard behind your back, right where everyone could hear it. So you see, I _had _to punch him."

Jon's amusement died in an instant. "Oh, Arya," he said, suddenly feeling a strong rush of affection for his favorite sibling.

"I would have done more to him, I swear I would, but Septa Mordane saw me and threatened to get Father and Mother if I didn't apologize to Theon right that instant," she told him none-too-happily.

"And I take it by your tone of voice that you did not…uh… go forward and apologize?"

His sister crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, as if daring him to call her out for her unseemly behavior. "Of course I didn't!" she professed. "Theon called you a bastard!"

Jon sighed. "But it's true. I am a bastard," he said, allowing just a hint of unhappiness to creep into his voice at the mention of his lowly station. He'd had a similar conversation to this before with Arya, back when she was still too young to understand what a bastard truly meant. She'd come to him then, scared and teary-eyed, asking him if she was also a bastard, and at that time, Jon had done everything he could to comfort her, without letting her know how much the familiar barb stung.

Now he was doing the same thing again. But this time, Arya was a little older and a tad too perceptive not to pick up on his mood. "You're my brother," she whispered, reaching out and lacing her fingers through his. "People shouldn't be allowed to call you that. Not when it makes you so sad."

Jon smiled faintly. "Come here," he murmured. He drew Arya into his arms and kissed her once on the cheek. "How can I ever be sad," he began to say, "when I have such a lovely little sister by my side?"

Arya giggled and playfully ruffled his hair. As she predicted, this odd reversal in roles succeeded in coaxing a true smile out of Jon. "If Theon calls you a bastard again, I'll knock all his teeth off," she happily vowed.

"Thank you, Arya. It's good to know that I can always count on you to defend my honor."

After a moment though, he added, "Wait, you're not completely serious about that though, are you?"

" 'Course I'm serious, Jon. Didn't you just teach me how to punch a man the other day?"

* * *

**ROBB**

She crouched into position, one hand gripping the balcony rail, the other tightly braced against the wall. When she heard the familiar clip-clopping of hooves, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. She only had one chance to get this right, and if she missed this, Septa Mordane might find her. That was, if she didn't injure herself first. Neither option sounded appealing to her, so she tried her best to concentrate and bring her mind back to the task at present.

At the count of ten, Arya jumped.

She landed hard, almost missing the saddle by inches, and instinctively, she reached out, her hands latching on to the nearest object (which in this case, happened to be someone's shoulders) so that she could steady herself. The rider cursed and reined in his horse. "Seven Hells, Arya! What do you think you're doing?" he yelled in fright. "You almost killed yourself!"

"Can I come riding with you, Robb? Please?" she said in response, her voice taking on that wheedling quality that only usually worked on Jon and their father.

"Aren't you supposed to be at needlework lessons?"

"Yes. Why do you think I want to go on a ride with you?" Arya said. "Come on, Robb. Please?" She gave her brother her best pleading look, and though she wasn't Sansa (Robb was more likely to cave in if Sansa was the one asking for a favor), it was enough to sway him.

He sighed. "Fine. But if Mother hears about this and demands your head, I want it said that I had nothing to do with this, alright?"

She nodded enthusiastically, and after a moment, wherein Robb glanced upward at the skies and lamented the fact that the gods had seen it fit for him to be blessed with an imp for a sister, they were off.

"Ah, now this is more like it." Arya sighed with contentment, looking around the woods with an eagerness more appropriately seen on a puppy than on a girl of her station. Thanks to her parents, she rarely had the opportunity to venture into this part of the woods unsupervised (her mother was convinced that some sort of horrid accident might befall her, despite the fact that Arya had proved herself a worthy rider for her age), and now being with her brother here was the closest thing she could get to freedom.

"I wish I could ride a proper horse like this everyday," she remarked.

"Better stick to your pony, little sister. You're too young to ride a horse like mine," Robb teased her.

She turned around and flicked him on the forehead. "Just because you're older than me by a few years doesn't mean you can act all high and mighty about it," she said prissily.

Robb responded by cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting, "Oh, Septa Mordane! Arya's here! Come quick!"

He burst out laughing as she attempted to cover his mouth with her hand and sent him a look that was half a glare and half a pout. In return, he urged his horse into a gallop, distracting Arya enough that she quickly let go of him.

They rode for what seemed like hours. When they finally reached a bend in the forest, both their cheeks had gone red from exhilaration, and there were wide smiles on their faces.

"We should do this again," Arya declared.

"Yes, we should," Robb agreed. While he more often preferred the company of Theon and Jon to Arya, he had to admit, despite her faults and her tendency to incriminate him in various acts of rebellion (running away from Septa Mordane being one of them), his little sister was fun to be with, especially when there was riding involved.

He smiled. Yes, it would certainly be fun if they could do this again. Besides, what sort of brother would he be if he didn't rescue her from the clutches of her septa from time to time?

* * *

**BRAN**

"Come on, Arya. You're almost there. You can do it!"

Sweat beading on her brow, Arya of Winterfell gritted her teeth and hoisted her body over the edge of the windowsill where her younger brother was waiting for her, his skinny little arms poised to help her up.

"Gods, I will never understand how you can climb this tower without breaking into a sweat," she complained with a sigh, closing her eyes and resting her cheek on the cool stonewall in an effort to catch her breath.

Bran shrugged. "Mother told me I was born to climb, just like Father always told you that you were born to ride a horse," he said. "Seems only fair, doesn't it?"

"Oh, shut it. When did you get so wise?" Arya mumbled. She surreptitiously peered at the window for a moment, and when she was satisfied that they were not being followed, she relaxed and allowed herself a small smile. "Yes. Looks like I'm finally safe for the moment."

"You know, I should have reported you to Mother the minute you asked for my help," Bran said casually, crossing his arms over his chest and sending his sister a cheeky grin. "I bet she would have praised me for my honesty."

"Oh, come on, Bran," Arya replied. "Have I not complained to you enough about my septa? I swear to you, that woman _hates _me."

"Hates your stitches, you mean," Bran supplied helpfully.

Arya scowled. "It's not my fault I can't do everything like Sansa."

"Don't despair. You know you're always welcome to come play with me when you've had enough needlework lessons for one day. Even if it gets me in trouble with Mother, you know I'll always be at your service, sister."

Despite herself, Arya felt her mood lift. Bran may not understand her the way Jon does, but out of all her siblings, he truly was the sweetest. And though Arya was not the type of lady who delighted in being rescued by gallant knights-in-shining-armour, for Bran she was willing to make an exception. He would be her sweet summer knight.

"Thank you, Bran," she whispered as she swept him into a tight hug. "Someday, you shall be Ser Brandon, the finest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you and I are going to go on grand adventures. We shall sail east and south, and we'll see all the wonders of the world – giants and krakens and mermaids and dragons – and we'll become legends. How would you like that? It will be marvelous, you'll see."

"Yes, I would love that," Bran said. "Someday, sister. Someday."

* * *

**SANSA**

"What do you think you're doing?"

Arya paused in the act of unlatching the window, and sure enough, when she looked over her shoulder, Sansa was there, staring at her with her lips wide open, a scandalized expression painted on her lovely face.

"I'm going out. What does it look like I'm doing?"

Sansa's eyes widened. "But you _can't_," she protested loudly, as if the idea of Arya running away from their lessons was so unusual and too horrible a thought to contemplate. "Septa Mordane said we are to work on our stitches until evenfall."

Her little sister made a face at her. "But I need to go out," she said. "Septa Mordane and her silly little lessons can wait."

She made a move as though to climb over the window, but Sansa clung tightly to the edge of her dress, effectively preventing her escape. "Let go, Sansa," Arya cried out, furiously tugging at the fabric with all her might. But Sansa was just as stubborn as she was when provoked, and before long, they were playing a dangerous game of tug-of-war, one that ended when they heard the sound of Arya's dress cleanly ripping in half.

Sansa stared in horror at the tattered remains of her sister's skirts, no doubt waiting for the gods to strike her for her wicked and unladylike behavior.

That was all the opening Arya needed. She hopped to the windowsill before Sansa could even utter a single word of protest and swung her legs over the stone ridge, calculating just how far she could jump without breaking her neck. But before she could successfully engineer her escape, she was once again thwarted.

"Arya Stark, get back here! If you try to leave this room one more time, I swear to the Seven I will scream so loud people all the way from Dorne would hear me," Sansa shrieked, sounding as though she meant it.

"But you don't understand!" Arya began to say. "I _have _to go out there. I have to –"

"Why? What's so important that you have to defy Septa Mordane's wishes and risk Mother's anger?"

Arya bit her lip. "I want to pick flowers outside. For Father," she finally confessed in a small voice. "It's his name day tomorrow and I want to give him a present. I tried to make something, but… you've seen how I am with needlework. I'm no good. So I... I thought…"

Sansa's gaze softened. She closed her eyes, and for a long time she did not say anything. But finally she pursed her lips and sighed. "Fine," she muttered. "Go now. I'll take care of Septa Mordane for you. You have five seconds to go before I change my mind."

Later that night, as Sansa as was about to get ready for bed, she noticed something unusual. There was a warm slice of lemon cake waiting for her on her bedside table, along with a single, long-stemmed blue rose.

Against her will, she smiled.

* * *

**NED**

As Ned Stark made his way to the godswood, the weight of lordship and duty fading away the farther he ventured outside the castle, the last thing he expected to see was his own daughter sitting at the foot of the old weirwood tree, face pale, her knees drawn to her chest.

"Arya?" he remarked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

She bent her head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'm hiding from Septa Mordane."

Ned knelt on the snowy ground next to her and touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Come, child, tell me what's wrong," he coaxed her.

Arya sniffed and laid her head on her father's shoulder. "We were having dance lessons," she said, her thin childish voice piercing the chilly late afternoon air. "I tried to do it right, the way Septa Mordane taught me, but I just... I couldn't do it, you know? And then Jeyne was there, and she kept calling me Arya Horseface behind my back because she's still upset that I told Robb that she likes him, and that got _me _mad, so I ran away. How was I supposed to know that it was a secret? It's not fair, Father. It's not _fair." _

Ned drew Arya closer to him and murmured, "Sweetling, sometimes life isn't meant to be fair."

"But you're fair, Father," Arya told him at once. "I hear the men at Winterfell talking about you all the time. They say you're the fairest and most honorable man in all the North."

Ned acknowledged this remark with a smile. "We're Starks, Arya. Justice is in our veins," he simply said. He shifted Arya so that she was sitting on his lap and went on, "And while it's true that you need to learn how to act like a proper lady, there are other things even more important than that. Would you like to know what those are?"

Arya nodded.

"Duty and honor," her father revealed, his face a solemn mask. "Duty to your family, and duty to the realm. And always, underneath all those things, there must be honor. For what is a man without honor? Nothing. Remember this, Arya, and remember it well."

"I will, Father," she promised him.

_Duty and honor, _she repeated to herself later that day, liking the way the words sounded in her head. Yes, she could do that. She may not be good at dancing lessons or at sewing, but she could be honorable and just. After all, she was a Stark and her father taught her well. _You shall see, Father. One day soon I will make you proud._

* * *

**AN: **Oh, that ending... *winces*

I don't know if this can be classified as fluff (the Bran scene, for instance, made me sad while I was writing it). And I'm not gonna lie. I am not happy with the way this turned out (the idea sounded way better in my head, I swear to God), but hopefully I'll be able to write better stuff in the future.

For those of you who left me prompts, not to worry. I haven't forgotten them. I'll try to finish them all, one at a time :)


	6. Smells Like Secrets (Arya x Aegon)

**For the prompt: ****_Jealous Aegon_**

"Robb, do you think your sister is into older guys?"

"The fuck are you talking about, man?" In a span of five seconds, Robb immediately went from chill beer buddy to protective older brother.

Aegon silently cursed himself for voicing his concerns out loud. Robb Stark was a good guy and one of the most loyal people he knew, but when it came to scaring away his sisters' suitors, the guy was legendary_. _He was also 170 pounds of hard muscle, with a mean right hook and a mind more suitable to politics and strategy planning than anything else, but… you know… Not that Aegon was worried or anything.

"It's…ah…nothing, really," he muttered. "I was just curious, is all."

"Why? Should I be worried? Do you think Arya's dating someone behind my back?"

Aegon raised both of his hands and shot his friend a lopsided smile. "Whoa, easy there, Robb. This isn't the bloody Inquisition," he said. "No, I don't think she's seeing anyone. Yet. It's just that… she's been spending a lot of time with that Baratheon guy lately and I thought you should know."

"Baratheon guy? Are you talking about her friend Gendry?"

"No. It's someone even worse. His uncle, Renly Baratheon," Aegon couldn't help but confess. "I don't have proof that he's hitting on her or anything, but… god_, _you should see them when they're together. Smiling and laughing like they've known each other since birth. He even slings his arm around her shoulder as though there's no age difference between them! Seriously, it's disgusting. He's practically old enough to be her father."

He expected Robb to go into a full-on rage (in fact, he was kind of hoping for that), but to his surprise, his friend relaxed and let out a short laugh. "That's called a fucking friendship, Aegon," he replied. "I know it's a concept that's completely foreign to you, but… you know… it happens."

"Fuck you, Stark. I'm being serious here. If I were you, I'd be worried for Arya. You should go install one of those tracking apps on her phone or have Sansa keep an eye on her, just to be on the safe side. _Or_ we can go pay Renly a visit. I don't care if he's the bloody King of England himself. If we need to beat him up so he'll leave your sister alone, I say we do it."

Something about his tone immediately set Robb off. He narrowed his eyes at Aegon and said in a dangerously low voice, "Dude, do you like my sister? As in, like her like her?"

Aegon laughed nervously. "What? _No. _God, no," he said.

He was lying, of course.

* * *

No one else knew he liked Arya. Or so he thought.

Later that week, as he paced around his apartment like a lion trapped in a cage, Jon watched him with eyes full of mirth and said, "You know, you would save everyone a lot of trouble if you just went ahead and asked Arya out. I might need to knock some sense into her at first, but eventually I think she'll say yes."

Aegon raked his hands through his hair in frustration and replied, "Too late. I think she's already seeing someone."

"Who?"

"Renly."

"_Renly? _As in Renly Baratheon?" Jon laughed so hard Aegon half-expected him to choke on his own spit. "Jesus Christ, Egg, what on earth gave you that idea?"

Aegon sighed. "I know it sounds crazy, but I think it's true," he told his half-brother morosely. "Robb told me Arya has a thing for older guys. He said her first crush was some weird old sleazebag with red-and-white hair. And then she had that thing with Gendry two years ago, and now there's Renly…"

"Really? Robb told you that?" Jon said, trying hard to hide his smile. "C'mon. You know how Arya is. She likes hanging around all sorts of people. You know, people like Anguy and Beric Dondarrion and Asha Greyjoy. Hell, you'll even see her playing poker with Uncle Obi from time to time, however weird and scary that sounds."

"Yes, but none of them are Renly," Aegon bemoaned. "Do you know that she's recruited him to be her double at the upcoming tennis tournament next month? And, oh, the other day we were at some pub downtown, and when some jackass tried to hit on her, Renly went all protective and shit. And do you wanna know what happened after that? He fucking kissed her, Jon. On the lips. And that's not even the worst of it. Yesterday I called Arya at 2am to make sure she got home alright after her girls' night out with Shireen and Wylla, and you wanna know what she said? She said, 'Oh, I'm okay, Egg. I'm at Renly's apartment. Go back to sleep.' Like, seriously? How the fuck am I supposed to go back to sleep after hearing something like that? God, do you think he and Arya had sex? I've seen the way women look at Renly. The fucker's a charmer. Do you think Arya's into him?"

Jon stared at him in stunned silence. "Um, are you done now?"

All of a sudden, Aegon felt embarrassed. "Yeah," he mumbled, cheeks red.

"Good. Now shut up and stop worrying about Renly Baratheon," Jon chided him. "Green isn't your color, Egg."

* * *

One day though, he finally found the courage to ask Arya about the one thing that's been bugging him all week.

"Arya…" he began to say, emboldened by the copious amounts of gin Jon had secretly slipped into his orange juice forty-five minutes ago (_that sneaky little bastard). _"Are you and Renly dating?"

Arya's mouth dropped open in shock. "Ex_cuse_ me_?" _

"I'm your friend, Arya. Don't you think I deserve to know?"

"Oh my god," Arya exclaimed, laughing at him in a way that made Aegon wince. "You stupid! Of course I'm not dating Renly! There's no way in hell I'd date him!"

"But… but…" Aegon sputtered. "You hang out with him all the time… And that night at the pub... He _kissed _you. And you spent the night at his place…"

"Aegon, it's okay –"

"No, it is _not _okay. That man is a sexual predator and I do not approve of you dating him. If he wants you, he's gonna have to go through me and your brothers first."

"Aegon, you stupid twat, would you shut up and listen to me for a minute?" Arya interrupted him, a huge grin on her face. "Renly Baratheon is gay."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"But what about that kiss? And…and that night at his apartment?"

Arya rolled her eyes at him and sighed. "He only kissed me so that creepy jerk at the pub would leave me alone. Trust me, Egg, Renly is gayer than a parade of pink ponies. I could probably walk around naked at his apartment all day and he wouldn't even notice."

Aegon wished the ground would swallow him whole. He was so embarrassed the only thing he could do was bury his face in his hands and pray to god that Arya would let this go.

But of course, that was probably too much to ask. "Aww, were you jealous, Aegon?" she teased him, patting him fondly on the cheek.

Aegon blushed furiously. "I… No. Of course not," he said, lying desperately through his teeth.

Arya smirked knowingly at him. "I can't believe you didn't know," she muttered. "Everyone in this entire city knows that Renly's gay."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, everyone."

_Those motherfuckers. _Aegon made a mental note to bash Jon and Robb's heads together the next time he saw them again. Robb he would understand, but Jon… He'd practically performed a thousand monologues in front of his half-brother about his doomed love life and not once had Jon said anything about Renly being gay. That prick. Forget blood ties. Aegon was going to kill him.

Arya cleared her throat. "Now that that's finally out of the way…" she said sweetly. "Will you now quit making that wounded puppy face and ask me out? Seriously, what are you waiting for, _winter_?"

* * *

**AN: ** Because dorky Aegon needs to make a reappearance every now and then... :))

The Arya/Renly thing was totally random, I know, but remember that scene in AGOT where Renly laughed his ass off because Joffrey got beaten by a nine-year-old girl? Ah, those were the good times. Lol. Anyway, ever since I read that scene I just had this feeling that he and Arya would get along really well.

Also, for those of you who are wondering... I'm doing the "Aegon meets Arya and her wolves" prompt next, followed by the Arya/Gendry one :) I hope I finish them all within the week so I can write a new one-shot or something.


	7. A Castle in the Snow (Arya x Aegon)

**AN: **This was supposed to be one of those cute Arya/Aegon drabbles, but somehow the moment I started writing, it turned into... THIS. (You'll see what I mean when you get to the last part of the chapter.) I'm sorry, my brain totally betrayed me XD

Also, I almost forgot to mention: this is a prequel of sorts to Chapter 4 (Closer to the Edge), with a few tweaks.

* * *

**For the prompt: ****_Aegon meets Arya in the woods while she's traveling with her wolves_**

The air was chilly that day, and by the time Aegon got separated from his men, he was shivering. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and exhaled, his breath steaming in the cold air. _Winter is coming; _that's what Jon would say if he were here.

Aegon dismounted. He tried to retrace his tracks, hoping it would lead him back to camp, but the snow was pouring heavily now, and it made it impossible for him to see anything beyond the white vastness of the field and the towering trees overhead. He was well and truly screwed now.

He silently cursed himself for his foolishness. All he had wanted was a few minutes alone away from his men and Jon's near-permanent somber mood, but now with the way things were going, he would be lucky if he ever made it through these woods alive. It would be dark soon, and with it came the terrible things men could only speak of when in front of an open fire, a warm mug of ale safely in their hands. _For the night is dark and full of terrors, _Aegon thought to himself, reciting something he'd heard one of the new recruits say.

He walked for what seemed like hours. The cold seeped into his bones and stole whatever warmth was left in his body, and several times he almost stumbled and fell. But finally, by some miracle of the gods, he reached a clearing. And in that clearing, he came across a most unusual sight.

There was a girl lying asleep in the snow – with hair as dark as the night sky and skin as white as honeyed milk – and by her side was a direwolf. They looked like something straight out of the pages of a fairy tale, Aegon couldn't help but think, and without meaning to, he stepped forward.

At the sound of twigs snapping, the girl's eyes flew open. Both girl and wolf stared at him, and something about the way they did so gave him pause. The she-wolf – the one who looked so much like Ghost – growled upon seeing him, but one touch from her mistress and she immediately stilled.

Aegon swallowed. "P-pardon the intrusion," he began to say. "I was just passing through... I mean you no harm. Truly."

The girl assessed him with cool grey eyes (why did he have a feeling he had seen those eyes before) and said, "Are you lost?"

"I… Well, I'm…" Aegon licked his lips, his cheeks turning pink in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "That depends on your definition of lost… But... what about you? What's a girl like you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? The war is far from over, my lady, and it isn't safe to travel in these woods alone."

She smiled at him, a smile that chilled the blood in his veins and froze him in his tracks. "Who says I'm traveling alone?" she whispered.

As if on cue, dozens of eyes shone in the empty space behind her, and before Aegon knew it, there were wolves all around him – wolves of every color and size, some with blood on their muzzles, some with fangs bared, their sharp teeth gleaming like knives in the surrounding sea of forest grass and winter snow. And somehow, they were all staring at him as though he was about to be dinner.

Goosebumps prickled his skin. With eyes wide and his heart in his throat, he asked her, "Who _are _you?"

She shrugged. "I'm just a girl trying to find my way back home," she murmured. "Who are you?"

"I'm…" He paused. "I'm a sellsword. From the Golden Company. And now…uh…if you'll excuse me… I must get back to my companions…"

Aegon slowly backed away. He didn't care if he ended up wandering around the forest in circles, hungry, alone, and with no way to get back to camp. Even that would be preferable to getting mauled to death by a rabid pack of hungry wolves.

Before he could get much further though, the giant direwolf leapt and landed on his chest, knocking him backwards into the ground. When he looked up, the girl had unsheathed a mean-looking dagger and was pointing it straight at him.

"You're a foolish man," she told him, "if you think you can lie to a girl with an army of wolves at her back and get away with it." She pressed her blade against his cheek and whispered in his ear, "Now let's try this again, shall we? Who are you?"

"I… I…"

"I've no wish to harm you," she said, almost regretfully. "So please, do not give me cause to do so. I've killed enough men as it is. But first… I must be certain. If you are who I think you are…"

"Wait, stop! Stay right where you are and drop your weapon!"

The girl whirled around, her face a blank mask of indifference, but when she caught a glimpse of the man who had addressed her, her composure broke. She gasped and with trembling hands, dropped her weapon.

What happened next was a complete mystery to Aegon. With a sudden burst of speed, the woman ran and crossed the field in half, heedless of the arrow pointed at her chest. "Jon!" was all the warning she said before she threw herself in the stranger's arms and burst into tears. "Oh, Jon. It is you! I thought I'd never see you again!"

At the sound of her voice, all the confusion left Jon Snow's face. Within moments, he too, quickly let go of his weapon.

Aegon watched the scene in disbelief. The girl was laughing and crying and hugging his half-brother with all her might, and to make matters even more absurd, Jon was not pulling away. In fact, he looked – dare he say it – happy. Happier than Aegon had seen him in months. And… Seven Hells_,_ were those actual tears in Jon's eyes? Since when did his brother cry?

"What… What in gods' name is going on?" Aegon wanted to know.

The girl smiled through her tears and spared him a glance. "I told you I was trying to find my way home, didn't I?" she said. "Well, it seems like my quest is finally at an end."

Aegon frowned. "But I don't… I don't understand…"

"Can't you see?" she replied, tightening her grip on Jon. "I _am _home."


	8. In the Company of Wolves (Arya x Gendry)

**For the prompt: ****_Gendry as the new apprentice blacksmith in Winterfell_**

Gendry hated Winterfell. He hated the eternal silence of the place, the way the castle maids giggled at him and called him "Renly" behind his back, but most of all, he hated the cold. There was always snow here – snow on the grounds, snow on his boots, snow on his slowly growing beard - and every night when he went to sleep, his teeth chattered and the cold stole into his bones like a silent thief, leaving him numb and frozen by the time he woke up in the morning. He could not understand how these Northmen could stand it. In this place where the power of the old gods were strong – where carved faces wept blood, crows roamed the skies like messengers of doom, and wolves howled at night – he felt like an outsider.

When Eddard Stark first came to Tobho Mott's shop bearing a proposition to take him North, Gendry had not known what to do. All his life, all he'd ever wanted was to master his craft and make a living in the Street of Steel, but all that changed the minute Lord Stark told him that he was King Robert's bastard and that his life was in danger if he chose to stay behind in King's Landing.

So now here he was, a stranger trapped in a foreign land where men worshipped strange gods, men embraced the cold like an old friend, and direwolves roamed the castle grounds alongside humans. If it weren't for the damned weather, life here wouldn't be so bad, he reckoned. Mikken was always kind and never once tried to hit him, and as for Lord Eddard… Gendry wasn't ashamed to admit that he liked him. He was just and honorable, and it was easy to see why everyone at Winterfell held such high respect for him. Gendry hoped that someday he would be privileged enough to make something for the Lord of Winterfell.

For now, though, he would have to be content in following Mikken's instructions. With a tired sigh, he went back to the task he had been given, resolving to do his very best within the shortest amount of time possible. After all, it would not do to disappoint Mikken, not when he had barely been here for a week.

"Mikken! Have you seen… Oh. Who are you?"

Gendry paused. Standing in front of him was a girl wearing breeches and riding leathers. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes muddy, but one look at her and Gendry immediately recognized her as Lord Eddard's daughter. She had the Stark look to her, and it was impossible not to miss.

"My name is Gendry, m'lady. I'm the new apprentice blacksmith," he stammered out, mustering an awkward little bow for her.

"I'm Arya. Pleased to make your acquaintance," she announced, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

Gendry blinked at the offered gesture, not knowing what to do. He was pretty sure lowly blacksmiths like him were not allowed to shake hands with highborn ladies like Arya Stark, but the look she was giving him convinced him that it would be in his best interests to do as she says. So with trembling fingers, he shook hands with her.

"So…" The Lady Arya said as she made herself comfortable on the stool next to him and proceeded to stare at him with unabashed curiosity. "Where are you from, Gendry? You don't look like a Northerner to me."

"I… I came from King's Landing," Gendry replied, sounding a little flustered at all the unwanted attention he was receiving from her.

"King's Landing?" Her eyebrows rose. "No wonder you look like you're about to freeze to death. What made you come all the way here to Winterfell?"

Gendry flushed red. "I'm afraid I can't say why, m'lady. Your lord father expressly forbade me to speak of it…"

Arya frowned. "Fine then. I guess I'll have to ask Father myself," she said. "Oh, and Gendry?"

"Yes, m'lady?"

"I _told_ you. My name is Arya. Call me m'lady one more time and I swear to the gods I'm going to hit you with a snowball."

Gendry almost choked when he heard those words. "But… but I can't. It isn't proper," he protested, looking aghast the very idea of it. "You're a highborn lady, and –"

"You might not know this yet because you're new here, but I assure you, I am not a lady," Arya interrupted him with a furious shake of her head. "My sister is a lady, but I'm not. If I was, then you'd be a prince."

An odd look crossed Gendry's face. "I'm not a prince, m'lady. I'm just a bastard," he confessed in a low voice, knowing that the moment he said those words, she would lose all interest in him and leave him back to his work.

To his complete surprise though, Arya Stark did neither of those things.

"Why are you smiling? Have I said something funny?" Gendry couldn't help but ask, hoping she wouldn't notice how annoyed and offended that made him feel.

"It's nothing. It's just…" Arya's voice trailed off and she let out a small laugh. "You remind of someone."

"Who?"

"Someone I love dearly. He's a bastard too. The best one there is."

A confused frown appeared on Gendry's face. _Arya Stark was such a strange lady_, he thought to himself. But even stranger still, he found out that he didn't mind at all.

* * *

The next morning, Lady Arya came back to visit him. She was still dressed in breeches, but this time she was carrying two wooden swords with her. But what truly made Gendry nervous was the huge grin she had on her face. He did not like that grin.

"Say, Gendry," she began, moving closer to him and fixing him with a wide-eyed stare that was two-thirds curiosity and one-thirds mischief. "Do you know how to wield a sword?"

Gendry swallowed and took a few steps backward, but Arya mirrored his steps and pressed closer until he found himself slowly backed up against the wall. "I… umm… A little," he finally said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Then in a hesitant voice, he added, "Why do you ask?"

She lifted one of the wooden swords she had been holding and smiled. "Will you practice with me?" she said in a voice that wouldn't take no for an answer.

He stared at her, slack-jawed. "Practice?" he repeated. "But... But I can't fight with a lady! That would be highly improper –"

"Gendry, tell me true," Arya interrupted him with a sigh. "Are you a septa or a blacksmith?"

"That's completely beside the point!" Gendry argued, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to call her "m'lady" and obey her every command. "I won't fight with a girl. It's not honorable."

Arya groaned in frustration. "You are such a stubborn bull!" she complained. "Fight me and I'll show you how fast I can knock you to the ground."

He scowled. "Begging your pardon, m'lady, but that won't happen," he told her. "I am bigger and stronger than you."

"So? I'm faster than you. And I learned from my brothers," Arya said proudly. "Would you care to test that theory? Or are you too scared to fight a girl like me?" She offered him the wooden sword, hilt first.

Gendry stared at the offered weapon for a long time. "You, m'lady, are a bully," he declared.

In the end, he took the sword.

* * *

It was just after supper when Harwin found him wandering around the castle grounds alone, his head bent, his hands deep in the pockets of his cloak. It was a moonlit night – a time for secrets, a time for slumber, a time for whispered confessions in the dark – and Gendy could not sleep.

"Seven Hells, what are you doing out here? You'll freeze to death," Harwin scolded him, sounding like the paternal grandfather he never had.

"It's just snow," Gendry said with a shrug.

Harwin sent him an incredulous look. "Just snow?" he echoed. "This is coming from the lad who won't stop acting morose and complaining about the weather all the damned time? I thought you hated snow! And… Seven save me, is that an actual smile on your face? I haven't seen you smile since the moment you came here. Gendry, you're starting to scare me a little…"

"Shut it, Harwin," Gendry responded gruffly, his cheeks turning red at the idea of Harwin seeing him with a stupid smile on his face. He thought of the girl with snowflakes in her hair and a sword in one hand and murmured, "You know, snow isn't so bad, after all."

* * *

**AN**: It was a little hard to get into this at first because I'm not much of an Arya/Gendry fan (I mean, I used to be, but not anymore) and this scenario has been rehashed, like, a thousand times already. But a prompt is a prompt so I did the best that I could. Hope this was relatively okay :)


	9. Bedroom Hymns (Robb x Margaery)

**AN: **My first Robb/Margaery drabble. Hurray :)

Warning: Although short, this chapter contains lots of fluff.

* * *

******For the prompt: **_******Pen and paper (Robb/Margaery) **_****

He approaches her from behind and rests his chin on her bare shoulder, but Margaery only laughs and draws away from him, hugging the half-drawn sheets of paper to her chest like they are precious gems.

"I said no peeking," she says, her voice like honey and silk and all things good in the world, and once again Robb is struck with the sudden realization that, against that voice, he is utterly and completely powerless.

"No fair," he complains.

"Oh, hush," Margaery scolds him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't worry, I'm almost done."

Robb sighs, curls his lips into a pout, and resigns himself to the fact that he would have to wait. So instead he stares at her fingers – ink-stained and slender and perfect – transfixed at the way they ghost over the paper, and imagines what it would feel like to hold them against his palm, to kiss each knuckle and intertwine her fingers through his, to feel how soft they are, how fragile. And in a sudden fit of madness, he imagines how much more beautiful they would look like with a diamond ring on her finger.

Yes, that would be perfect, Robb tells himself, a reckless grin suddenly appearing on his face, and makes a mental note to visit Olenna and take Sansa and Loras ring shopping with him next weekend.

"What are you smiling at?" Margaery suddenly asks him, effectively breaking his thoughts.

"Nothing," Robb murmurs. "It's a surprise."

She smiles at him then, the warmth of it sending sparks coursing through his chest like wildfire. "Well, here's my surprise for you," she says. She sidles up to him, seemingly unbothered by her near-nakedness, and proudly shows him the piece of paper she's been working on since the moment he entered her flat.

Margaery Tyrell is not an artist (far from it) but when Robb sees her drawing – a crudely done sketch of a happy couple holding hands, with a castle in the background and five kids standing on top of a hill (one of whom bore a striking resemblance to Loras) – he knows he has nothing to fear now. When the time comes for him to show Margaery the ring, he knows she will say yes.

* * *

**AN: **I wrote another Robb/Marg drabble right after this one, but it was so short (with a word count of less than a hundred) so I opted not to post it here. Besides, I suspect most of you had already seen it on Tumblr anyway, so what's the point. Lol.

Also... Just to inform you, I won't be taking prompts for a while. I need a short break from all this stuff (not to mention, I really need to get started on that Jaime/Lyanna one-shot I've been meaning to write since, like, forever). Hope you guys are cool with that :)


End file.
